


Don't Be Hiding

by karavan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Banter, Chatlogs, Child Neglect, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Issues, Developing Relationship, Domestic Violence, First Love, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Humanstuck, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecurity, Kissing, M/M, Making Love, Play Fighting, Romance, Underage (16)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-16 13:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18692092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karavan/pseuds/karavan
Summary: Dave likes Karkat. Karkat just wants Dave to be real for once.





	1. Chapter 1

You stare at the screen in vague disgust, then glance back over at Karkat. He’s leaning forward over his knees, taking in the movie with rapt attention, his lips moving in time with some of the dumbest one-liners.

“Yikes,” you remark in disbelief. “You’re really into this, aren’t you? Like you weren’t kidding or being ironic or anything, you like, legitimately love this shit. I’m on a date with a dude who has the actual worst taste in movies in the history of the known fucking universe.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen but you watch with amusement as a slight rage-flush creeps up his neck, spreads to his face. When the tips of his ears are burning pink, he counters with, “Yeah? Well this isn’t even a date, you fucking dong, so shut your hole.”

You smirk, because teasing the shit out of Karkat is half the fun of being with him, and just say, “Pfft. The hell it’s not, man.” To make your point you sidle up close to him on the couch, so your thighs are pressed together, and get a little thrill from the strangled noise he makes when you rest your head on his shoulder, place your hand on his thigh. You keep them there for the rest of the movie and even if he grumbles at first, tries to make out like he’s _totally_ not into this, a couple of minutes in and he’s holding your hand, leaning all the way into you.  

Just before the credits start rolling he’s got the balls to try that classic move on you where he's fake-stretching just to get his arm around you and you snort because he's cute, but lame, so so _so_ fucking lame. 

“Seriously, dude? The classic yawn and tit-grab manoeuvre? Lame. So lame.” You tut at him, and just when you sense he’s on the precipice of exploding, completely sick of you and your bullshit already, he does just that.

He yanks away from you with a growl, muttering a string of colourful curse-words, and pushes to his feet, clearly with the intent of dramatically storming away. You’re not sure where he thinks he’s going but it’s his house and you haven’t been over often enough to remember exactly where his stupid bedroom is. You laugh and jump up before he’s got a chance to make it far, though, grabbing him around the waist.

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey. Don’t be like that, c’mon. Kidding, alright? Kidding.”

You drag him back down to the couch with you, wrapping your arms around him as you sit him between your legs. He's small enough that you can get your arms all the way around his chest, cuddle him into you tight, and even when he grumbles and cusses at you and tries to squirm away, he makes no real effort to get out of your arms. 

You tighten your legs around him and press your cheek to the side of his head. You’ve never been this cuddly with anybody but Karkat’s adorable as hell and sometimes you think you could do this with him all day long. Argue. Cuddle. Argue. Kiss. Rinse, repeat.

You _want_ to do it all day long.

“Lame is fucking cool,” you murmur into his hair. “Or something. Whatever—basically I'm diggin' your lame-ass moves, bro. Keep ‘em comin’.”

“You're a dick,” he says without any heat. 

“Mm. I like you.” You nip gently at his ear.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to swat you away. “Shut up.”

“You're cute when you're mad, you know that, Vantas? So like, always cute then.”

He slaps your hand and you nuzzle into his cheek, press some kisses to his face and jaw and feel him shudder, melt, against you. You’re hoping he’ll twist around so you can finally get your mack on with him, because the movie’s over and it’s time now to get on down to The Business, but just then your phone pings loudly and kills the vibe.

“Damn it.”

He leans away from you so you can fumble around in your hoodie for your phone. You unlock the screen and let out a groan.

“What is it?”

It’s your Bro, texting you to ask where the fuck you are and demanding to know when you’ll be home. You don’t even bother hiding the phone screen from Karkat because he’s practically in your lap already, and so you keep it held out in front of you so you can both see it.

You weigh just telling your Bro the truth, replying that you're halfway across town trying to get laid so can he please fuck off and stop cramping your style, but you know he doesn't deserve the response. Some of your earliest memories are of him leaving you at home by yourself so he could go out and get his fuck on with half of Houston—he doesn't get to cockblock you now. No fucking way.

“Fucking douchenozzle,” you mutter. You hold the power button down and switch the phone off, knowing you’re going to pay for that later but unable to bring yourself to care. He’ll get more and more pissed at you the longer you don’t respond but fuck it, because you’ve been waiting on this for a long time and nothing, not even your Bro, is going to get in the way of you and Karkat possibly boning down tonight.

Karkat must sense your inner turmoil, because when he speaks to you next he almost sounds gentle. “That your dad?”

You fight back a little prickle of annoyance at him because _fuck no_ and that ship sailed a long time ago. 

“He ain't my dad,” you're quick to remind him. “Hey, check this out.” You hold a hand out in front of him and twist your fingers into a gross but cool-looking knot. “Double-jointed. Cool foreplay, huh?”

You feel Karkat cringe against you and you know without looking at him that he’s rolling his eyes.

“You are such an insufferable fucking show-off, Strider,” he says.

“You love it.”

You untwist your fingers and wrap your arms around him again, tight around his stomach. He leans heavy against you, tips his head back against your shoulder and cranes his neck, offering you his lips.

Finally.

You kiss him slow, holding off on too much tongue for now, and rub gentle circles over his abs. You really want to dip lower, push your fingers past the waistband of his pants and go for gold because you’ve got a boner already and he’s just so fucking _hot_ , but you’re careful with him because you’re still not sure how far he wants to go tonight. You don’t want to push and end up going home with fucking nothing; just your hand for company. Again.

You were pretty sure you were onto something promising when you'd texted and asked him, half-joking half-hopeful, if he wanted to hang out tonight and suck face and to your surprise he'd answered fast, sending back just one word: YES.  But these are uncharted waters and Karkat is moody and unpredictable. One wrong move—one slip where you take a shitty joke a bit too far—and it could be game over for you tonight; could completely sink your chances of ever getting into his pants entirely.

You know you’re going to have to play it cool right now if you want to actually score, and reaching into a guy’s underwear and just grabbing his dick is probably not cool. You think.

Your patience pays off when Karkat starts to get real hot with you, letting out intermittent little moans and writhing against your body as the kiss turns messy, his tongue plunging in and out of your mouth, you nipping at his lips whenever he tries to catch a breath. When he grabs your hand and forces it down over his crotch, encouraging you to rub at the hard bulge beneath his jeans, your breath catches in your throat and you’re seriously at risk of losing it and just jizzing in your pants.

Ugh. No.

“Dude,” you whisper against his mouth.

“Mm?” He bucks up against you, encourages you to keep on rubbing him.

“Your mom’s going to be home from work soon, right?”

Karkat freezes against you and fuck, _nice one Strider_ , way to kill the fucking vibe by bringing up a guy’s mom when you’re fondling his junk.

He’s very quiet for a while before he says, “Um. Yeah. We should probably go to my room. I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to but, uh, we could go there.”

“Fuck yes.” You sit up a bit and gently shove at Karkat’s back, eager to get on going.

He holds your hand and leads you through the living room, the kitchen, and down the hallway. On the way to his bedroom you look at the sweet family photos lining the walls and can’t get over how fucking _normal_ his family is compared to yours. It makes you shudder to think about ever inviting Karkat over to come and see the den of insanity you were raised in. Then you think about him meeting Bro and shove that thought out of your mind real fucking fast because it’s never going to happen—as much as you and Karkat fight and dig at each other you actually really like him and so these two shit-shows can never be allowed to collide.

Nope. Never the twain shall meet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be part of chapter one but it just became too long and a bit overwhelming so I decided to break it up. Sorry the first was so short. I hope you enjoy.

He stands back against his bedroom door to let you in and then closes it, locking it behind him. He flicks his lava lamp on, bathing the room in a soft orange glow, and you bite your tongue, resisting the strong urge to crack a joke about how the seventies called and wants their shitty, impractical accessories back.

You’re nervous but try not to show it as you slowly edge over to his bed, scanning the pinboard tacked with polaroids hung just above it. There’s dozens of pictures of him and his friends up there, most of them taken at the local skatepark, and there’s even one of you and him, your arm slung around his shoulders as he looks away from the lens, all dour and sulky.

But the ones that stand out to you the most are the few pictures he’s kept that have his ex-girlfriend in them. They were still together when you met him and seeing them up there right now makes you feel so fucking awkward and dumb and ugly but you play it cool and just ignore it, kick back on his bed with your arms behind your head.

You fling your sneakers off and watch him for a few minutes as he potters around his room, puts some music on low, snatches random crap up off his floor. Probably thinks you’ve seen the few things laying around on it and are assuming he’s a big old slob. You want to tell him that shit, he should see the state of _your_ room, but you keep quiet until he gets up and looks at you on his bed. He swallows hard and you can tell he’s unsure what to do with himself next.

You figure cracking a joke might help lighten the mood.

“Well come on then, big daddy,” you say, hamming up your accent a bit. You shift over on the single mattress and pat the space next to you. “Don’t keep a boy waitin’.”

He’s not amused, just looks at you like you’ve got a screw loose and wrinkles his nose, shakes his head. “Big daddy? Seriously? Dude, you really know how to kill a fucking mood, you know that? _Shit_.”

This is not going according to plan at all and so, like an idiot, you just keep on rolling with it. “And you know how to _set_ the damn mood, Vantas, 'cause this is romantic as shit.” You gesture around his room. “The tunes, shit—that bomb-ass lava lamp you got over there. Hell, we get some candles and rose petals up in this bitch and we're practically halfway to a mills and boon novel.”

“Ugh.” He rubs at his face, like he’s tired, and ambles on over to the bed, dropping to his knees beside the mattress so you’re at eye-level. He looks directly at you and sighs. “Can you like...not be like this? For just a minute?” He sounds so earnest your stomach twists a little.

“Like what?” you ask, but you know exactly what he’s talking about. You wish you could tell him it’s only because you’re nervous but you think that might sound dumb and so you don’t say anything else.

The dude’s trying to connect with you emotionally or whatever but it's so fucking tough to let your guard down around him and it's not like you've had any practice. That earnest look on his face makes you want to try, though, and you figure if he gives enough of a shit about this—about you two, whatever the hell you are (and you're never sure, because you're pretty certain the two of you are actually physically incapable of having the ‘hey, let's define this relationship’ talk)—to drop his cranky facade for five minutes then maybe you can do the same. 

“Just be serious. I like your stunting and all but it’s cool when you drop it, too.” He speaks in that same soft voice that tells you that _oops, shit’s getting real right now and we’re not playing anymore_.

You clear your throat, try to rearrange your face, and just nod. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Cool.” He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it over a chair behind him. He looks at you again and leans in close, kissing you slow, his hand warm on your cheek.

When he breaks the kiss he’s got fingers on your wrist, gently rubbing at your skin. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Can you take those fucking shades off and look at me?” And _shit_ , okay, Karkat Vantas wants you to take your shades off so he can stare into your freaky eyes because he's an idiot, and a complete sentimental romantic underneath all that posturing.

You don't really want him to see you like that, because sometimes no shades is worse than just being naked, but if you're going to get laid, he's right: the shades have gotta go. 

“Fine.” You hastily pull them off and fold them, placing them on the bedside table. “Better?”

“Yeah. A lot.” He maintains eye-contact with you when he plants a knee on the bed and leans over you, moves in to kiss again. You fumble around awkwardly between warm pecks as he pulls your hoodie and shirt over your head, helps you shimmy out of your jeans.

You thread your fingers through his messy hair when he climbs onto the bed, gets on top of you. You silently take each other in for a while, because this is the first time either of you has actually seen the other fully naked.

Karkat’s small and kind of skinny like you—although maybe not quite as runty because, well, you know his mom actually feeds him on the reg—but he’s well-defined with smooth, tan skin and damn it, everything about him is perfect to you in a way that kind of makes you feel inadequate.

You’ve got no idea what he’s thinking about you either because he’s never even seen you with your shirt off, but when his fingers trace over your neat collection of bruises and scars—some from strifing, some from just getting your ass beat—and he breathes, “Damn it, Dave,” you suddenly want to throw your clothes back on and get the hell out of here.

“Tell me he didn’t do this to you.”

You swallow nervously. “Well yeah,” you admit. “But it’s not what you think,” you rush to add. “We just mess around a lot. You know, wrestle. Strife. Fuck around with swords. That kind of thing.” You don’t mention that your Bro is 6’3” and buff as fuck, that he has at least a hundred pounds on you, because that would make things sound way too messed up and you don’t want to kill the mood. Again.

Karkat looks at you like you’re fucking crazy but appears to accept your bullshit explanation, or else he just doesn’t want to push you too hard on it. He leans down and presses kisses to your shoulders, your collarbone, the bruises on your ribs and the criss-cross scars on your stomach.

When he slides back up your body to kiss you on the mouth you decide to throw caution to the wind and just grab his dick, because it’s fucking hot the way he keeps rubbing it along the inside of your thigh. But you’re getting frustrated as hell and the more touching, less talking about your weird body and multiple injuries, the better.

He splutters against your mouth as you jack him off and fumbles around for something in his bedside drawer, knocking a few items to the floor. You open your eyes to see he’s grabbed a pump-bottle of lube, is slicking his fingers with it, and you let out a snort.

He looks at you, eyes heavily lidded. “What?” he whispers.

“Nothing, it’s just…”

He pulls away and gives you a suspicious look. “What? Spit it out.”

“What kind of teenage boy are you?” you blurt, snickering. “You’ve actually got lube. I don’t know, I was kind of expecting hair conditioner, or lotion, or fucking cooking oil or some nasty shit. But uh, no, I mean—this is good, this is classy.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, gives you that look again, the one you know means he wants you to shut your fucking gob and stop running your mouth or else you’re going to kill his boner. With that in mind you bite your lip and give him a few long, firm pumps and then he’s groaning again, his forehead pressed to your shoulder.

He knocks your legs apart with his knee and teases the sensitive skin of your inner thigh with wet fingertips. His mouth against your ear, he says, “Are you cool with this?”

“Uh, yeah,” you tell him without pause, because you’re so cool with this, your dick is definitely cool with this, and not for nothing but you’re kind of in love with the idea of him fucking you right now.

You spread your legs for him and stifle a little whimper when he presses a slick finger to your hole, teasing you a little, making sure you’re wet before he gently pushes inside you. He kisses your neck, keeps one arm hooked around your back, and you close your eyes and try to just lose yourself in the moment.

You’ve waited what feels like forever for this and yet a huge part of you still can’t believe it’s actually happening. When you’d first met him at the skatepark all those months ago, and swiftly got involved in a verbal sparring match all your friends were forced to intervene in—sure you two were about to come to blows—you'd never thought that one day you'd find yourself in his bedroom, naked, getting fingerbanged by him.

Life was weird as shit sometimes. 

By the time he’s working two fingers in and out of you, his lips attached to your throat, you’re pretty close to just giving in and losing it. You buck your hips, desperate to get some friction by rubbing your dick up against his abs, but he pushes a hand into your stomach, presses gentle kisses along your jaw like he's urging you to calm down, chill and just wait because he’s going to take care of you.

When he’s tearing open a condom wrapper with his teeth you’re so fucking nervous and excited that you can’t control yourself and it’s fucking word vomit all over again when you remark, “Nice. Responsible.”

He pauses and gives you a wry look again, just says, “Dude.”

You rub his arm and brush his hair out of his eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry,” you say with a little wince. “I’ll, um. I’ll shut up. Promise.”

He leans over you, one arm on either side of your head, and gives you what you think is an affectionate look. “It’s cool,” he says softly, letting his lips brush your cheek. “You’ve been doing pretty good actually. There’s like, eighty percent less bullshit coming out of your mouth right now so that’s awesome.”

You’re relieved, because the last thing you want to do is let your mouth fuck this up for you when you’re almost at the finish line. His cock nudges up against you, teasing you with what’s about to come, and you let out a desperate little moan.

“Hey,” Karkat says in a low voice.

“Mm?”

“Have you done this before?”

You break eye-contact with him and shift around self-consciously.

“Dave,” he says, and your name sounds so horribly intimate on his lips right now. When you're messing around with each other he usually just calls you Strider. Or douchebag. Or insufferable prick. Anything but your actual name. 

“Hey. You don't have to answer that,” he tells you, leaning in to kiss your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “It doesn’t even matter. Seriously, forget I said anything.”

“No. It's cool. It's fine. I mean like yeah, I have, but um... not like this. This is nice, and uh... Yeah. Not like this.” You stop there and let him interpret that whichever way he wants. 

He looks a little disturbed but just says, “Okay. Well, um. If it hurts or you don't like it, just tell me and we can stop or do something else.”

“Oh. Um, yeah. Sure.” You can’t help thinking that for a guy who bases his whole persona on being prickly and sour as hell, he sure is real fucking gentle and considerate with you, making you feel all like an old romance heroine wanting to swoon right into his fucking arms or some shit.

It’s gross, but you also don’t think you’ve ever felt this warm and fuzzy about anyone. You wonder if you’re catching love-feels for him and if you are well then, hey, maybe it’s not so bad after all.

You figure it’s finally about to go down and so you move to get into position on your hands and knees, assuming that’s what he wants because it’s usually just easier that way, but he stops you with a hand to your shoulder and says, “What are you doing? No. I want it like this.” He keeps you pinned under him, doing that whole intense, stare directly into your eyes thing again.

Great. You knew the dude had a romance boner but of course he wants to look into your eyes, kiss you and snuggle you while he fucks you, and while you know that sounds real fucking nice and all, you’re one messed up kid. You love getting your cuddle on with him but you worry that much intimacy during sex will make you want to squirm out of your own skin or something.

Still, you figure there’s a first time for everything and for this one, you’re just glad it’s with him.

You clutch onto him as he slowly pushes inside of you, carefully watching your face for any signs of discomfort so he can adjust his pace, the depth of his angle. It only stings for a little bit before he makes it good, because he's slow and so patient with you, like the aim here isn't to just fuck and cum, but...something else. Something that makes you weak at the knees because no one’s ever looked at you the way he's looking at you and the messed up part of you wants to run. 

He keeps up a steady pace, not so slow that it’s maddening but enough that you’re present, that you feel every single _second_ of it. You keep your arms wrapped tight around him, his chest pressed flush to your chest, and when you realize you can feel his heartbeat against your skin the searing intimacy of it all is so overwhelming it makes you dizzy.

He starts to tremble when he’s getting close, picks up the pace a little, and you kiss as he thrusts harder and faster into you, breath stuttering against your lips when he groans and rolls his hips.  

You’re grateful he doesn't just forget about you the second he's finished because he’s quick to shimmy down your body, get between your legs under the blanket and finish you off with his mouth. He takes it like a champ too and swallows when you cum, leaves you weak-kneed and shaking with an arm thrown over your face.

When it’s over, Karkat rolls over onto his side facing the wall, still trembling, and pulls your arm around him. You push up against his warm back, your cheek brushing his hair, and hold him until his breathing evens out.

For the first time in the history of your relationship, neither of you try to say anything at all.

* * *

Later, when his mom gets home, you eat dinner with his family—Karkat, his mom and his little sister.

His mom makes tamales and frowns at you as she's filling your plate, tells you you're too damn skinny and keeps pushing food onto you until Karkat’s yelling at her, telling her to leave you alone because you’ll eat what you want, and you're full just from _looking_ at this much amazing food. 

The two of you hold hands under the table like a couple of dorks, and you somehow manage to make it through the entire meal without cracking a single dumb joke. Karkat seems to like you this way because every time he looks at you he smiles, squeezes your hand, rubs his thumb back and forth across your knuckles. You don’t even want to make fun of him for being so gooey over you because fuck it, you’re feeling just as gooey over him.

You lay on the couch together after dinner and catch up on some Real Housewives, Karkat tucked in front of you as he mutters curse-words at the screen. You love holding him, love just being with him in this perfect fucking hazy afterglow, but you know reality’s about to catch up with you fast and it’s best if you just rip the bandaid off now so it hurts less later.

“I’m gonna have to get going,” you murmur against Karkat’s ear, and he grumbles and shifts back against you.

“No. Don’t. I want you to stay. Just sleep-over, man, you can borrow some of my clothes.”

“I can’t,” you tell him, and you wish so badly that you could but you know if you don’t show up home tonight your Bro will do something vindictive and stupid like report you missing to the cops for kicks and you can’t deal with any of his bullshit right now. You can’t let him spoil a perfect night.

Karkat rubs at his eyes. “Ugh. Fine. How are you getting home?”

“Bus?”

“Nah, it’s too late.”

“Shit.”

“I could get my mom to drive you?”

“Dude, it’s like forty minutes across town. I can’t ask her to do that.” You dig around in your pocket for your phone and switch it back on, hating that you have to do this but knowing you have no other choice.

You pull your chat app up and click on your last conversation with your Bro.

TG: hey. bro.  

TT: tf do you want  

Great. So he’s pissed.

TG: can you come pick me up 

TT: lol. fuck no. 

TG: dude 

TG: cmon 

TG: dont be a douche  

TT: slick so you're talking to me now are you  

TG: my phone died? 

TT: haha. you're a shit liar lil dude 

TG: bro. please. cmon 

TG: ill clean the bathroom 

TG: ill make you fucking food ok 

You know this one might actually get to him because he can't cook to save his life and you, after a lifetime of his neglect and a solid six seasons of MasterChef, aren't half bad. You cook for his sorry ass (when there's food around to cook) whenever you want to soften him up about something and half the time, it works and gets you what you want. 

There’s a few minutes delay before he messages you back.

TT: fine. where are you 

You forward him Karkat’s address and wait for him to respond.

TT: on way. you're a little asshole for this dave  

You finish this charming exchange off with an ironic: ‘luv you too man’ and the blow-kiss emoji.

You spend the next forty minutes engaged in an epic cuddle-session with Karkat, and when your phone finally pings again, letting you know your Bro’s outside, he grumbles and complains but insists on walking you outside.

In the driveway, the headlights on your Bro’s obnoxious truck are blinding. Karkat shields his eyes and says, “So that’s him, huh?”

“Yup.”

He nudges your shoulder and says, “You okay?”

You shrug it off and reply, “Yeah. Sure. It's whatever. It's cool.” You think if he’s worried you must look nervous or something and the last thing you want is for him to worry over you when you go home.  

“Hey. Come here.” He pulls you into his arms one last time. “Can I give you a kiss?” he asks against the side of your head, sounding a bit nervous, and you know he’s only asking because he’s worried your Bro might freak out or something but you just shake your head.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, it’s cool.” You lean into him and press your lips to his, lingering against him for a few seconds. 

“Message me when you get home.” Karkat ducks in fast to kiss your forehead and you know your Bro is looking and probably thinking about what a bitch you are but you honestly, truly don’t give a shit about what he’s thinking anymore.

When you climb up into his truck he snorts and shakes his head at you, as if to say _really? Him? That's the best you could do, little bro?_ and you bristle with impotent rage, hate that he doesn't even have to say anything to be that douchey and insulting. It's written all over his face.

You think if he actually said something about Karkat you might literally punch him in the dick though because the thought of your Bro insulting him fills you with a sudden and surprising surge of protectiveness towards your friend. Or boyfriend. Or whatever the hell you two are now. 

You guess you'll have to talk about that later. Preferably over chat where you can cloak your fear of him rejecting you in about ten separate layers of sarcasm and irony.

You wrap your arms around yourself as Bro throws the truck into reverse and backs out of the driveway, careful to not look back at the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I generally write a lot of darker stuff so this was a fun little detour! I just wanted Dave to have as much kisses, and cuddles, and love as possible.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the super angsty part, fair warning. We're gearing up for a happy-ish ending, though!

It’s nearing on midday the next morning when your bedroom door bursts open, ripping you out of your sleep. You rub at your eyes, groggy as hell, and see your Bro standing in your doorway.

“Aw, hell no, man,” you croak, rolling over and clamping your pillow down over the side of your head. “Seriously, just get the hell outta here.”

He’s still there a couple minutes later when you risk a peek, munching on the remains of the Texas chilli you’d made for him at 2am.

“Get’cher ass up, little dude,” he says through a mouthful of food.

You groan and push yourself into a sit, your sheets pooling around your waist, and rub at your weary eyes. “Strife?” you ask, because if he’s looking to fuck with you this early in the day there’s only one explanation, and no matter how hard you resist he always gets his way.

The longer you make him wait, the harder he’ll thrash you for it—best to just get this shit out of the way fast so you can limp back to bed, sore as balls, and sleep your way through the rest of the afternoon.

But then he just says, “Nah,” stretching as he scratches at the thin trail of hair on his abdomen. “Some scrawny little dude needs’a haircut’s here to see ya.”

Your heart plummets straight to your ass.

“I… What?”

“You heard me.”

He steps out of the doorway and as the next few seconds stretch you’re hoping, _praying_ , that it’s just fucking John or something but then nope, he’s there; right there in your actual apartment and your heart is pounding so hard you feel it in your throat.

You kick your comforter off and leap out of bed, scrubbing the sleep out of your eyes and stumbling as you lurch for your doorhandle. There’s only one thought pulsing through your mind right now, screeching at you like a klaxon, and that’s that you need Karkat away from your brother and _fast_ , before he gets fucked with.

“Dude, maybe put some fuckin’ pants on next time you answer the door,” you hiss at him through clenched teeth, the second Karkat’s safely behind you. You shut the door in your Bro’s face and rub at your temples, give yourself a few seconds to get your head on straight before you turn around and face this.

When you do, he’s sitting on the edge of your bed, holding a cardboard tray with two tall coffee cups in his lap. You guess he had the early shift at work this morning because he’s still dressed in his uniform—grey button-down rolled up over his forearms and a green apron—and he looks so adorable, _is_ so adorable because he’s gone and brought you fucking coffee, but nope. Nope. An entire universe of fucking nope because you can’t register the fact that he’s in your apartment or why; can’t think clearly long enough to form a coherent sentence and so you just kind of stand there like an idiot until he feels awkward enough to say something to you first.

“So. Your Bro. He’s kinda weird, right?”

You clear your throat and kind of edge up against your cluttered bedside table, like you’re trying to avoid sitting next to him or something. Which you guess you are. You’re also trying to be cool about it but quickly realize you’re shit out of luck in that department when you bump up against it and send a bunch of your crap tumbling to the floor, get the back of your boxers all soaked in apple juice.

“Shit. Um, yeah. That’s, like, a really nice way of saying he’s a demented douchebag, but yeah. He’s next-level.” You snatch up a bunch of tissues and twist around to wipe at the wet patch on your ass.

“Cool.” Karkat stares at the mess on your floor. “Anyway, I uh, got you this.” He holds one of the coffee cups out to you. “I made it the way you like it. Six pumps of caramel—which is totally fucking sick, by the way.”

“Sweet. Thanks, man.” You toss the tissues to the floor and take the cup from him, sitting down next to him on the bed. You take a little sip—and yup, it’s exactly how he remembers you like it alright—and cradle the warm cup there in your lap, avoiding Karkat’s expectant gaze.

He tries to slip his hand into yours but you tug your fingers away before he can lace them all the way through and scratch at the back of your head instead.

“So, um. What are you doing here?”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just, I dunno, you could’a called first. Kinda weird is all.” You’re aware you’re being a massive douche right now but you’re mad as hell at him for putting you in this situation, even if you know how unfair that is because it’s not his fault your life is some freakish sideshow you’re desperate to hide from him.

“I messaged you. Twice. How was I supposed to know your lazy fucking ass would still be in bed?” He shifts around to face you then, glaring at the side of your head. “And what do you mean, ‘it’s weird’? How is it weird, Dave? Enlighten me.”

Oof. You know the shit’s about to hit the fan soon because you can’t quell the rage bubbling up inside you and it’s not even about him—it’s _you_ and every frustration you’ve ever felt about your messed up life, smacking you in the face all at once—but he’s here and an easy target and as much as you wish it wasn’t like this, you know he’s going to be the one to cop it.

You keep your poker face straight and just shrug. “I dunno, it just is. I didn’t even give you my address, man.”

“Well yeah. Egbert gave it to me,” he says shortly. “You this fucking testy about him coming over?”

“Nope.”

He recoils at your answer and lets out a dry laugh. “ _Oh_ okay, I get it, so it’s cool when it’s your best friend but not when it’s your boyfriend. You don’t think that’s even slightly fucked up?”

“Well I mean yeah, it would be, but like…you’re not my boyfriend, dude.”

You can’t look at him as you say this shit because when you do, all you can think about is last night. Him inside you. His hands and his mouth on you. The way he looked when he came; about you holding him close after, until his body stopped trembling against you.

But that was then and this is now and that life and this one weren’t supposed to overlap so soon. This is _not_ the way you wanted things to go down—you were supposed to have time to ease into it, get used to the idea before you unleashed all the batshit crazy on him and now it’s just too fucking late. You have to get him the hell out of here before he sees something you can’t explain; before he sees more of the real you than he’s bargained for.

“Are you being fucking serious right now?” His voice wavers with barely restrained anger.

“What? Dude c’mon, we had sex _once_. That don’t make you someone’s boyfriend, ‘least where I’m from. Did you actually think we were gonna go all facebook official the second we jumped each other’s bones, ‘cause I dunno ‘bout you but that’s whack as hell, man. Chill.”

“Oh fuck no, Strider. Did you just tell me to _chill_?” he shouts. He shoves your shoulder, spilling coffee all over your lap, and you let out a groan, setting your cup down and grabbing for the tissues once more, dabbing at your bare legs.

“Look at me.” He stands in front of you, glowering, and you raise your head, careful to keep your expression neutral when you meet his eyes.

His fists are balled and his face flushed pink but it’s different, not like any of the other times he’s ever been mad at you. His eyes are different, like he’s _pleading_ with you not to do this to him, and you feel like a cornered animal then, like the walls are closing in on you fast and you just have to get him out of here.

“What was all that shit last night, huh?”

“What shit?”

“Don’t you play dumb with me, you asshole.” And he’s right; you know what he’s asking—that he’s struggling to understand how you could be acting so loved-up with him last night, like you two were really going to make a go of it this time, only to turn around and do this to him now.

Your blood pounds in your ears. You try to keep your voice level when you move in for the grand finale and say, “Listen, man, I just wanted to get laid. I know how much you dig all that hearts and flowers bullshit so I was just givin’ you what you wanted. We had a good time, though, didn’t we?”

For a second you’re sure he’s going to slap you right in your face like you deserve, but he doesn’t. He stands there, arms folded, and looks down at the floor when he says, “Wow. I was such a raging _dumbass_ to think I was actually getting anywhere with you.” His voice sounds suspiciously thick, and it makes you hate yourself.

“Go to hell, Strider.”

He slams your door behind him when he leaves.

You wait a few seconds and then get up to open it, briefly consider running after him and begging him to stay before the front door of the apartment slams shut with a bang and then your Bro’s there in the hallway looking at you, leaning on one shoulder against the wall.

“Shit. That was smooth, little bro. Real fuckin’ smooth." His tone lacks inflection but you just  _know_ he’s mocking you.

You whip around to glare at him. “Can you just fuck _off_ , dude,” you snap at him, because it’s not like he’s any better, and you're not about to stand there and take a critique from your brother and his community dick. While half of Houston might have had a go on it, you've never known him to hold onto a relationship longer than a month because he’s always been a complete asshole to anyone misfortunate enough to develop real feelings for him.

And you guess the apple doesn’t fall too far from the fucked-up tree because _you_ just did the exact same thing.

You can’t even look at him anymore and so you risk the asswhupping later to just slam the door in his face, ignoring him when he bangs a fist on it and tells you you’re a douche from the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda wanna talk about Dirk's community dick some more but gotta stay focused.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incoming daddy issues!

Over the next few days you live like a hermit, venturing out of your hidey hole only to eat, shower or get your ass kicked in a strife. You shut yourself up in the apartment and spend most of your time laying around on your back feeling sorry for yourself, avoiding your computer and your phone.

There’s no point checking for messages from Karkat because he’s had your ass blocked on every platform since that morning at the apartment. No point checking for messages from anyone else either because no one wants to talk to you.

You upset John when he’d asked if something had happened between you and Karkat and you’d told him, way harsher than he'd deserved, to butt out and mind his own business. He hasn’t tried to start a conversation with you for days and you know he’s still sore and avoiding you, probably worried you’ll bite his head off again if he so much as breathes in your direction. And as for Rose, you'd blocked her the minute she’d demanded to know what you did that hurt John because you weren’t in the mood for one of her lectures; don’t need to be told you’re the asshole in a myriad of clever ways when you already know you’re the asshole.

The rest of your friends, well, they were Karkat’s friends first. You know they’ll take his side and not want anything to do with you now that you’ve hurt him and so you don’t even try reaching out. That just leaves Jade, and so when you see her handle pop up in your notifications bar one night you don’t have the heart to fuck up what feels like your last remaining friendship. That and you’re getting seriously desperate to talk to somebody who’s not mad at you.

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

GG: hey dave

GG: so ummmmm

GG: what did you do to karkat :|

You briefly consider just not responding, but fuck it. If you’re going to open up to anyone about this it’s going to be Jade. At the very least you know she’s too sweet to just block you or outright call you an asshole.

Your fingers shake a little as you start to type.

TG: what do you mean

TG: why

TG: oh no

TG: wait

TG: lemme guess

TG: hes ranting and raving and fucking frothing at anyone who will listen

TG: you

TG: your dog

TG: his moms fucking potplants 

TG: anyone who strolls into the starbucks he works at

TG: saying daves a huge douchecanoe

TG: like 

TG: literally the biggest asswipe the cosmos has ever had the misfortune of shitting out

TG: and he never wants to clap eyes on this mug ever again

TG: cause of all that aforementioned douchecanoeness

TG: am i hot

TG: lay it on me harley 

GG: WOW haha um ok no actually cause that would almost be normal for you two!!

GG: he just seemed...really sad? 

GG: a few of us met up at gattis on thursday night

GG: and oh my goodness dave he was just so off :(

GG: i dont think any of us have ever seen him like this?? i dont think he swore or shouted at a single person the whole night

GG: and you know how much he loves shouting!

GG: but he just kind of sat there and picked at his food and when john asked him what was wrong and if hed seen you he

TG: he what

TG: jade he what

Your stomach lurches in a way that’s physically painful.

GG: oh dave

TG: jade i swear to god

TG: HE WHAT

GG: he cried? :(

TG: no

TG: oh god

TG: oh fuck

TG: jade

TG: jade 

TG: im just like

TG: scum

TG: actual scum. like the scum that collects under the rim of some dirty fucking truckstop toilet bowl

TG: i think

TG: i think maybe i actually broke him

TG: i mean to the point where hell like 

TG: never trust again

GG: dave! what on earth are you talking about? how?? 

TG: shit

TG: um

TG: ok

TG: im just gonna be real with you right now ok because fuck it

TG: i literally could not make this mess any fucking messier

You take a moment to get your shit back under control, take your shades off and wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

GG: dave? 

TG: we had sex

GG: !!!

TG: yeah

TG: i mean that part was awesome 

TG: literally the best night of my fucking life

TG: at least til i got home 

TG: you know 

TG: cause my bros an assbackwards dickface and all

TG: but like 

TG: before that

TG: perfect. fucking amazing

TG: doki dokis. lovehearts spewing out my eyeballs. fireworks

TG: the whole shebang

GG: oh gosh! oh wow. ok. so what went wrong?? :(

TG: me

TG: i did 

TG: he showed up at the apartment the next morning

TG: i think he just wanted to surprise me

TG: do something nice

TG: you know

TG: like a functional almost normal emotionally whole human being

TG: and shit

TG: jade

GG: ??

TG: its just kinda hard to tell you what i did ok

GG: oh dave why??

TG: youll think less of me

TG: and like

TG: for good fucking reason 

TG: i deserve that

TG: i deserve to walk around with ‘worlds biggest prick’ stamped right on my forehead for the rest of my shitty pathetic existence

GG: dave! will you stop self-flagellating for just a second and tell me what happened! 

GG: i will not think less of you. we all make mistakes right?

TG: heh

TG: yeah

TG: but no

TG: not like this 

TG: this was straight up fucking poisonous jade

TG: kind of like me 

TG: cause you know what

TG: even if i shit on my bro a lot sometimes

TG: i guess im a hell of a lot like him

TG: i mean

TG: lets go down the whole fuckin ugly laundry list shall we

TG: cant hold onto a good thing 

TG: cant be real with anyone long enough to actually connect 

TG: cause he broke that part of me

TG: just like someone mustve broke it in him when he was a kid

TG: and so im destined to live the rest of my life this friendless loveless emotionless robot who cant let anyone get close to me

TG: cant let anyone love me 

TG: just has random gross sleazy meaningless sex with any girl or guy who looks at him

TG: and still wakes up alone

TG: because i guess deep down im terrified 

TG: and i cant accept how anyone could actually love me

TG: when i just dont feel worthy of it

TG: and so i become this vicious violent emotionally manipulative jackass who gets his kicks making everyone around him feel as miserable and worthless and fucking empty as he does

TG: jade

TG: im legitimately like

TG: becoming that guy

TG: because all that shit

TG: thats him

TG: but its also kinda me

TG: and i dont know what to do 

GG: DAVE!!! please stop it because you are making me cry :(

GG: listen to me. you are nothing like your crappy brother! you are so sweet and cool and funny and amazing and TOTALLY loveable which is why you have so many awesome friends who would do absolutely anything for you

GG: who just want to see you happy 

GG: every single person on the planet has issues right? that doesnt make things hopeless

GG: that doesnt mean you give up or quit trying to fix them!

GG: and dave you know karkat adores you!!

GG: (also it sounds like your bro could use about a century of intense psychotherapy! just putting that out there!!) :P

TG: well shit you think

TG: but trust me the dudes pushing forty hes a lost cause

TG: and yeah

TG: maybe he did feel that way about me

TG: once

TG: but not anymore

TG: i ruined it. like really ruined it

TG: if this relationship was a face itd be completely busted

GG: couples fight sometimes dave!

TG: it wasnt a fight. i rejected him before he could reject me because i was mad and hurt and confused and scared and just so fucking embarrassed about him seeing that messed up part of my life

TG: i said some truly awful shit jade

TG: like

TG: im fuckin ashamed of it

TG: i dunno how to even start walking it back

TG: i dont think i can

GG: dave...have you even tried? i mean have you tried apologizing to karkat?? talk to him because i think hed surprise you! he only wants to know you :(

GG: (btw a little birdy told me hell be at jamail on saturday afternoon just fyi!!)

TG: thanks

TG: and i know. i know he does or like he did. i think thats what im afraid of

TG: that hell know me and then just like

TG: not wanna know me

TG: does that make sense

GG: dave i have to get going in just a sec but theres only one way to find out and you are the bravest guy i know! youve got this! <3

TG: thanks

TG: and jade

GG: yeah??

TG: i love you ok

GG: <3 <3 <3

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have to give credit for the idea of Karkat/his friends being skater-kids to a Dave-centric fic I first read years back called 'Flattery'. It's orphaned and pretty old but is such an awesome (extremely dark, though. Mind the tags!) read. https://archiveofourown.org/works/414490/chapters/688517
> 
> THANK YOU to everyone who has followed or left comments on this self-indulgent experiment, especially last chapter. It really means a lot to me.
> 
> P.S. Apologies in advance for any typos or other mistakes. I tend to write and post super quickly so I'm sure I've missed some things.

When you set your phone down you feel like at least some of the weight’s been lifted from your shoulders. You open your computer and unblock Rose, then send John a rambling message apologizing for being such a prick. After that, you kick back and start seriously contemplating what you can do to fix the gigantic mess you’ve made in the relationship that means the most to you. 

Saturday feels like a lifetime away and so you briefly consider just trying to catch Karkat at work. You’re not super in love with the idea of copping a frappé to the face, though, and besides: if things don’t turn out the way you want them to and the pair of you end up in some violent stoush it could fuck up his job and you can’t do that to him.

You don’t want to rush this shit and make everything a thousand times worse but you also know it needs fixing, and fast. Because after talking to Jade you’re more resolute than ever that you don’t want to be like your Bro, pushing away anyone who wants you because it’s easier than just letting yourself be uncool for a minute.

You want Karkat more than anything, and you want him to know that it’s okay to want you too. That you’re not going to lose your shit and bail on him again.

Only you’ve fucked up. Bad. You've hurt someone who cares about you. Like, really hurt him. He opened himself up to you for real—completely dropped his charade—and you as good as spat on that deceptively sweet, soft little heart. Whatever trust he might have placed in you is shattered and it'll take nothing short of a miracle to get him to give you another chance. Trouble is you're freshly out of fucking miracles.

What you can do, though, is make an ass out of yourself.

A huge one. 

* * *

Jamail is packed to the rafters on a Saturday afternoon.

You nervously adjust your shades, keeping one hand planted firmly behind your back as you scan the busy crowd for Karkat and his friends. After a decent fifteen minutes you finally spot him over by the half-pipe. Your heart skips a beat as you watch him doing idle drop ins up and down the basin, and you take a brief moment to appreciate the way his messy hair catches the sunlight; the way the lean muscles in his arms move as he balances himself, his jeans slung low on his narrow hips.

You wish you could just skip straight ahead to the part where you grab him and stick your tongue down his throat, but you know you need to stay focused for the minute. If you don’t play your cards right there’ll be no macking on later (not to mention zero possibility of you getting any of that hot make-up sex you’ve been lowkey fantasizing about) because at the moment he wants precisely nothing to do with your ass and for good reason.

You cup your hand around your mouth and call out to him a few times until you finally catch his attention. When he looks over at you his expression instantly turns hard and you shrink into yourself a little, give him a sheepish half-wave. Your heart hammers when he flips his deck up and starts moving towards you.

The two of you are roughly the same height but you feel small when he’s suddenly right there in front of you, glowering at you like you’re the biggest piece of shit he’s ever encountered.

“The hell do you want?”

Over his shoulder you catch a few of his bigger friends watching the pair of you from back by the half-pipe and the thought crosses your mind that if things go south here, there’s a strong possibility you’re getting your ass kicked today. Awesome.

You clear your throat. “Listen, man, I uh, just needed to talk to you.”

He narrows his eyes at you, looks you up and down. “Why are you standing so weird?”

“What? Oh. Right.” You’d almost forgotten your lame romantic gesture.

Your anxiety’s making you sweat but you pull your hand out from behind your back and offer him your sorry excuse for a bunch of flowers. The arrangement is totally mismatched and looks like complete dogshit, especially after travelling forty minutes on the bus, but you’d spent a good hour this morning stealing the best ones you could find from neighbourhood gardens until some old lady had caught you and chased you halfway down the block, threatening to call the cops.

He stares at your outstretched hand with a look of detachment, then snatches the flowers from you. “Is this a joke?” He regards them with something like disgust. “Shove them back up your ass, Strider.” He lobs them at your head and you duck, the flowers sailing right over you.

Ouch.

If this is a game of tit for tat, he’s close to catching up.

You straighten up and try to play off just how bad that shit hurts, slipping back into old habits when you say, “How are you this fuckin’ sexy even when you’re throwin’ shit at me?” It’s probably less of a joke than you intend because _man_ he’s hot when he’s mad at you and yup, there’s definitely something wrong with you to be thinking things like that at a time like this.

His face twists into a scowl. “Don’t sweet-talk me, you smug little douche. You’re a bigger fuckface than I thought if you think I’m falling for that shit again.”

“Point taken. Still a babe, though.”

 _“Strider_ ,” he warns in a strangled voice.

“Sorry. Listen, I need to talk to you. Alone.”

“Not a chance in hell, asswipe.”

“Karkat.” You make a grab for his wrist and push your shades up into your hair, needing him to know you’re serious about letting your guard down. His fury seems to falter when he looks into your eyes and you can tell he’s considering it.

He pulls his wrist back into himself and folds his arms across his chest, staring down at his shoes. “What the hell could you have to say to me that you haven’t already said?”

“Let’s start with an apology followed swiftly by an explanation. Please?”

“Fine. You’ve got five minutes with me, Strider. Better make it good.”

You scan the park for an empty bench in the shade and nod for him to follow you when you finally spot one. You sit across from him and for the first couple of minutes it’s heavy silence—his angry and yours apprehensive. Eventually you reach across the table and hold your hand out to him, letting him know he can touch you if he wants.

He doesn’t.

You bite your lip, try to think about Jade calling you brave when you finally say, “I’m sorry.” You try to inject as much sincerity into it as you can. It’s difficult following a lifetime modelling yourself after the original ironic megadouche but you think he buys it because his shoulders relax slightly.

“So why did you say all that stuff, then?” He avoids your eyes and picks at the edge of the table. “I don’t even know what I did that was so bad. Was it the… I mean, did I do something you didn’t like? Did I hurt you?”

You know he’s talking about the night you slept with him and you groan, bending to press your forehead to the table. “God, I’m such an asshole,” you mutter. “Dude, no, okay? Fuck no. That was… You were amazing. And you did nothing bad. You’re _good_ and thoughtful and a complete fuckin’ sweetheart even if you don’t want anyone to know it and I’m just like…a total shitstain for acting like that the next day. That was low, man.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “So why did you?”

“You caught me off-guard?”

“How?”

It’s intensely painful trying to work up the courage to tell him the truth, tell him everything, and you’re quiet so long Karkat eventually says, “Dave?”

“I didn’t want you to see where I live, dude. That’s the truth.”

He actually looks offended. “Why? You seriously think I care about any of that shit? When’s the last time I judged you on something that wasn’t your fault? Maybe on your lame-ass coolkid act and that fucking motor-mouth you’ve got on you, but never anything else. You know me, Dave.”  

“Yeah, well my life’s fucked up, man. I’m a mess.” Your throat feels thick and there’s a suspicious prickle at the back of your eyes. You shut that shit down fast, though, because you don’t get to cry, make him feel sorry for you, when you’re the one trying to apologize.

When you’ve got your shit back under control, you say, “I was shittin’ it that once you saw how bad it is you’d just fuckin’ dump me anyway. I thought it’d be easier if I just went and did it first. That’s what all that bullshit was about; I didn’t mean any of it.”

He nods slow, like he’s trying to take it all in but none of it makes sense to him yet. “You didn’t mean it,” he repeats.

“Hell no.”

“Right.” He focuses on his hands then and not on you, picks at his nails as he furrows his brow, and you wish he’d just _look_ at you so he could see how serious you’re trying to be but you understand why he doesn’t want to. You wouldn’t want to look at you either.

“But you ripped my fucking heart out, Dave,” he says after that, and oh _shit_ , this is so much worse than when he was just mad at you. You want to smash the rewind button, go back and change the direction of the conversation so he’s not saying this, but you can’t and you know it’s time to face the consequences of your own dumbass actions. This is the one thing you know will separate you from your Bro—acknowledging your mistakes, taking responsibility, actually wanting to atone for them.

You try to take this for what it is—progress—because as long as he’s being open with you, you have a shot at making it right.

“I know I did. And I hate that. I’m _sorry_. Look, part of it was just… I didn’t want you meeting him. You’re like, the first person I ever met that I just wanna keep all to myself. I don’t want him knowin’ you. I don’t want him lookin’ at you. I don’t want him messing with you or saying fucked up things about you.” ‘ _Cause_ _I think I fuckin’ love you_ , _dude_ you think but can’t say, though for a minute you wish you actually had the balls to just lay it on the line like that.

Maybe you’ll work up to it.

You add, “When I saw you there in the apartment I just went full-on fuckin’ panic mode. I didn’t know what to do. I had to get you outta there.”

“You could have just told me you needed space and asked me to leave," he points out. "You know. In a less fucking crushing kinda way."

“Since when do I do anything that makes sense?”

“Yeah. Good point.”

“And you know what, no, fuck that. I don’t want space from you. That’s the last thing I want. I want you all up in my shit for as long as it takes for you to realize how much better you can do.”

“Ugh. Shut up, Dave.”

There’s a long silence before he says, “Listen, I get why you didn’t want me to meet him, but…you know it’s not actually a secret that your Bro’s a dick who hurts you, right? I mean, I kinda figured that out pretty early on.”

And then: “I’m not scared of him. Fuck him. I don’t give a shit what he says about me as long as you’re alright. Don’t feel like you have to protect me; I can handle myself.”

You don’t say anything because the things he's telling you are getting you so worked up you don’t trust yourself to speak right now.

He does take your hand then and says in soft voice, “I can handle you, too.” He squeezes it and you’re suddenly all shy with him, struggling to meet his eyes.

“Alright, easy there," you mumble. "Don’t go all knight in shining armour on my ass.”

“I think you like it.”

This gets you to crack a smile. “Shit. Yeah, I kinda do.”

“Listen to me.” You look at him and his expression is serious now. “I know he makes your life a living hell. But two years and we can leave this shit-filled crater they call a city and make a whole new fucking life, away from all that. And in the meantime? You come home with me, any time you want. And if he ever hits you again I’ll unironically rip his fucking dick off, shove it up his ass and make him choke on his own nutsack."

You’re not exactly sure what he means by ‘we’ but your heart leaps excitedly at the suggestion he might still be in your life two years from now. That it’s in any way possible the two of you could actually get out of here together one day.

You just nod approvingly and say, “Spicy. And I dunno, dude, he’s into some pretty weird shit. I wouldn’t even count on him not diggin’ that.

“Gross.”

You smirk and give his foot a little shove under the table. You’ve missed this—teasing him, touching him, flirting with him. You want to know if making it a permanent kinda thing is still on the cards when you say, “So. Do you still wanna, uh… You know.” You hold your bottom lip between your teeth and push your fingers together in and out a couple of times.

He makes a face at you and slaps at your hands. “God, you’re such a gigantic fucking loser. Yes. Yes, okay? I still want to be your boyfriend.” His voice takes on a gentler tone when he adds, “There’s no one else. It’s only you, Dave.”

You can’t hide the idiotic grin that spreads across your face. “Sweet.” You push yourself up off the bench and lean over the table to give him a kiss. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you hard, murmurs that he's missed you against your lips.

You hold hands with him as you make your way back over to the half-pipe where all his friends are waiting. On the way, Karkat stops to pick up the flowers he’d lobbed at your head earlier, holding them carefully against his shirt. You give him a look and he just shrugs. “What? Nothing some sugar and water won’t fix.” And in that moment you think you’re so fucking lucky he’s yours that your heart could fly right out of your chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I got to the end here and found myself just really wanting to know what happened at the start and how these two got together. I'm kicking around some ideas, I've got some notes, and I've also been practising writing Karkat's chatlogs. It's fun! So if you enjoyed this there might be a little prequel on the way. <3


End file.
